


but you keep coming up

by omoiyaris



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Future Fic, M/M, i guess that's all, past Yahaba Shigeru/Original Female Character, really don't know what else to say about this, there is mention of a wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-23
Updated: 2020-11-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:49:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27678328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omoiyaris/pseuds/omoiyaris
Summary: Three months after the spectacle that was his non-wedding, Shigeru steps outside of his parents’ house for the first time ingodknows how long.Yahaba doesn't get married, but somehow finds his happiness along the way regardless.
Relationships: Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru
Comments: 15
Kudos: 152
Collections: Kyouhaba Week 2020





	but you keep coming up

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally meant for kyouhaba week 2020, day 2: third year/post time-skip/future/"i missed you." one day i won't be late. one day i will finish these things in time!!

Three months after the spectacle that was his non-wedding, Shigeru steps outside of his parents’ house for the first time in _god_ knows how long. 

He keeps most of his features hidden beneath a face mask as he makes his way through the neighbourhood. There usually aren’t many people wandering around in the evening, but he can still sense a few curious stares thrown his way, followed by whispers, no doubt. To escape further notice, Shigeru ducks his head and picks up his pace until he reaches his destination: a nondescript bar tucked away on a side street.

Watari spots him the minute he enters and waves him over to his table in the back with a wide grin. He’s already nursing a drink and has an array of snacks spread out in front of him. Shigeru takes a seat across from him and automatically reaches for the bowl of edamame. 

“Hey,” Shigeru says listlessly. His eyes fall on the god-awful shirt Watari is wearing—a bright cyan with an ugly fish on the front below the words _Man of Sofishtication_. Normally, he’d poke fun at it, but he just doesn’t have the energy tonight. 

Tugging his mask down, he pops an edamame bean into his mouth before pulling it back up. The bar is mostly empty, but he’s paranoid about running into someone who knows him. Better to be safe than sorry. 

Watari’s smile doesn’t waver at his lack of enthusiasm, but his eyes take on a worried cast. “Tired?” he asks, and Shigeru wants to laugh—but doesn’t. All he’s been doing lately is sleep; he doesn’t have a reason to be tired.

Before he can work out a response, he spots a half-empty glass of beer beside Watari’s seat and raises an eyebrow in askance. The mystery solves itself as Kyoutani exits the bathroom a moment later and makes a beeline for their table while wiping his palms on his pants.

“You asked him to come?” Shigeru barely manages to keep his tone even, but Watari is able to pick up his apprehension in spite of that. 

“You should know better than anyone that Kentarou doesn’t bite,” he says, chewing on some lotus root. “Besides, he was worried.”

Shigeru doesn’t say anything. Kyoutani slides into his seat without making eye contact with either of them. It’s not a deliberate avoidance, just a consequence of the fact that he seems more interested in looking at the ground than at Shigeru. It irritates him all the same, or Kyoutani does, and he clears his throat pointedly. 

When the full force of Kyoutani’s gaze pins him in place, it’s familiar and unsettling at the same time. Despite the fact that he wanted Kyoutani to look at him, Shigeru turns away, rattled, and scowls behind his mask. They haven’t really seen each other or spoken in close to a year—though that isn’t right, Shigeru recalls sourly. Kyoutani was at the wedding too. 

They’d made eye contact, briefly, after Shigeru’s future mother-in-law had delivered the news. He’d stumbled down the aisle without really seeing anything, yet he remembers finding Kyoutani’s face in the crowd, his sharp eyes narrowed in concern. He wanted to say something to him then, but he’s long since forgotten what.

“You sick?” Kyoutani asks after a pause, gesturing to the face mask. His mouth is pressed in a thin line, but Shigeru knows him well enough to see the concern lurking behind his impassive expression. 

“No, I just didn’t want to be recognized by someone annoying.” He’d wanted to keep it on for the rest of the evening to avoid potential awkwardness, but it does inconvenience him when he’s trying to eat and drink. Yanking the mask off, he shoves it in his pocket before pouring himself a glass of sake. 

“Have any assholes been giving you shit?” Kyoutani demands quietly, his fingers curling around his glass with too much force. He looks like he’d start something if Shigeru dared say _yes_ , and maybe that—the indignation on his behalf, finally makes him crack something close to a smile.

“If by ‘assholes’ you mean my brothers, then yeah.” Though even _they_ tiptoe around the matter as delicately as they can. The reason Shigeru’s barely left his parents’ house in the past three months is so that he isn’t put in a position where people can talk to him about it—about what happened, about what went wrong, about if he’s okay. He doesn’t want anyone’s sympathy or pity, however well-meaning.

“They’ll forget about it soon enough,” Watari says reassuringly, but Shigeru is less sure. This is the most exciting thing to happen in his family’s social circle in a while. His mother’s friends, at least, haven’t stopped gossiping about it. He can’t see it dying down anytime soon.

“It’d be nice if it was true.” He’s not holding his breath.

Watari studies him over his glass for a moment, then shrugs. “I know you don’t want us to ask how you’re holding up, so let’s just drink for tonight!” He lifts his glass for a toast, and Shigeru joins him with a grateful smile a second later. Kyoutani grudgingly lifts his glass as well, and through the cheers of _Kanpai!_ , he stares at Shigeru like he can see past his expression and his bravado, right into the heart of him.

Feeling hot, Shigeru drains his entire glass in one gulp.

* * *

Since Watari is returning to Kanagawa tomorrow, he heads home first, cheerfully eliciting a promise from Shigeru and Kyoutani to come visit him sometime soon. 

Shigeru should probably head back soon too, but he’s only _slightly_ past tipsy and doesn’t want to cut the night short. It’s usually important to him to keep in control of himself and how he’s perceived, especially these days when a night of sloppy drinking will be spread like _wildfire_ among his acquaintances (with plenty of embellishments), but now that he’s started, he can’t stop. 

Kyoutani keeps him company, and maybe he’s part of the reason why Shigeru pours himself another glass, and another. He’s not really sure where they stand—he wants to believe they’re something like friends, with their volatile clashes left in the past. Shigeru definitely understands Kyoutani better than he used to, but they had their entire third year of high school to focus on building _that_ relationship. 

But it’s the fact that they haven’t really spoken since graduation that makes him nervous. Aside from team reunions and dinners Watari has managed to wrangle them both into attending, Kyoutani’s the one person Shigeru never really bothered to keep in touch with. It was a conscious decision on his part, not just nonchalance.

Strange, then, that Kyoutani is willing to stay here with him now.

“How are you doing?” Kyoutani asks eventually, the gruffness of his tone doing little to hide the worry simmering underneath. Shigeru blinks hard. 

“I thought Shinji said we were just going to drink,” he says stupidly, and Kyoutani huffs like he expected Shigeru to know better. 

“Yeah, but he’s gone, and _I_ didn’t make any promises.” Shigeru supposes that much is true. “So?” Kyoutani says, raising his glass to his lips. “No bullshit this time.” There’s a glint in his eyes that almost feels like a challenge— _be honest, if you can._

With Watari, Shigeru can usually cling to some semblance of composure and pretend nothing is wrong with him, but that’s only because Watari is compassionate enough to know when to back off. But Kyoutani pushes in an artlessly blunt way, flicking some switch deep within Shigeru’s chest that compels him to let the mask fall and tell the truth, no matter how ugly and twisted it is. 

He takes a swing of his drink and swipes at his mouth with the back of his hand. “My ex fiancée left me at the altar and I’ve spent the past three months hiding out at my parents’ house because I don’t want to face the world. How do you _think_ I’m doing?”

Kyoutani shifts. “Answer the damn question.”

“Fucking shitty,” Shigeru bites out. “Thank you _so much_ for asking.” 

The silence between them is heavy and uncomfortable. Shigeru ignores the unpleasant taste in his mouth and pours himself another glass of sake. 

“Did you talk to her yet?” Kyoutani ventures, almost delicately, like he knows Shigeru wants to talk about this with someone despite all his insistence that he doesn’t. It’s annoying, really, how Kyoutani can read him like an open book. 

He doesn’t want to be seen like this, by him, but he’s not sure how to make it stop. 

“Yeah.” It took a few weeks for Fukumi’s mother to reach out on her behalf and arrange a meeting between the two of them. Shigeru remembers staring at the clock hanging on the wall behind his former fiancée’s head, the ticking unnaturally loud in his ears as he struggled to process her words. “She said she was sorry for embarrassing me in front of all our family and friends.”

Kyoutani’s thin eyebrows rise. “But not sorry for ditching you?”

Shigeru’s mouth twists. 

“You guys planning on working things out?”

“I don’t think so.” The admission shocks him a little, because although he’d known as much somewhere deep down in his heart, it’s a different thing to say it out loud. It feels more real. “It’s complicated.” Shigeru doesn’t want to say more. He could just be paranoid, but the occasional stares pressing into his back make him reluctant to discuss the subject further. 

Kyoutani nods once, then sweeps his eyes over the bar with a scowl before slamming back the rest of his drink. “Wanna get the fuck out of here?” he asks. 

The bar is suddenly stifling; Shigeru nods wordlessly, wondering if Kyoutani feels the same, or if this is an attempt to be considerate. Either way, he’ll take it. He grabs the last handful of edamame resting in the bowl and polishes off the contents of his glass. “Let’s go.”

It’s balmy outside. Shigeru wishes it were windy; his skin feels overly warm, and a breeze would be more than welcome to help him cool down. He’s not drunk, per se, but neither is he wholly sober, hovering somewhere in between the two. Shigeru can’t fully walk properly, but he has enough sense of mind that he doesn’t want to lean on the unfairly sober Kyoutani as they begin the trek to Shigeru’s parents’ home. 

Stubbornness only takes him so far; he stumbles over a crack in the sidewalk mere moments later, and Kyoutani catches him by the elbow before he can fall. “Can’t you walk properly,” he mutters, and Shigeru mumbles out some words he can’t really hear. 

They remain in this awkward position for a moment before Kyoutani’s fingers slide down his arm to wrap around his hand. His grip is cold and almost bruising, but Shigeru doesn’t bring attention to it or pull away—it doesn’t mean anything, after all. Kyoutani’s just trying to make sure he gets home unharmed. 

Still, it feels almost nostalgic, a reminder of simpler times when volleyball—and by extension, Kyoutani, were at the centre of his world. Maybe he’s a little fucked up. He’s never held Kyoutani’s hand before. High-fived him, nudged his shoulder playfully, but this is new and it shouldn’t feel so familiar. 

“What’s complicated?” The sound of Kyoutani’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. Turning his head slowly, his brows furrow as he tries to work out what he means. “With your ex fiancée,” he elaborates, sensing Shigeru’s confusion. 

“Oh.” With his free hand, he fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “She thought we rushed into getting married and that we were doing it for the wrong reasons.” Fukumi had been tearful but honest, and Shigeru couldn’t argue with anything she said because she was right. “She… said she didn’t think I loved her, which was okay since she didn’t think she loved me either.” 

Some part of him felt relieved to hear that, which was probably the best indication of why they shouldn’t have been getting married in the first place. He’d proposed after a year and a half of dating following the timeline his older brother set and had always wondered if Fukumi said yes simply because there was no obvious reason to say no. Nothing about their relationship had been particularly impassioned, but it was comfortable, and that was all Shigeru really wanted, or thought he did. 

If Fukumi had wanted to reconcile, he probably would have agreed, Shigeru reflects. But their meeting had been a muted break up instead, and now—

Now he doesn’t know what to do. It’s not like getting jilted at the altar was a part of his life plan. 

Beside him, Kyoutani is silent, in deep thought. His hand is still cold, though, his grip still steady and tight enough that Shigeru can’t slip out of it. Not that he makes an attempt to. With Kyoutani guiding him through the empty streets, following a route he remembers from high school, Shigeru is free to tip his head back and admire the night sky while blinking back traitorous tears. 

He’s the first to break the silence this time. “Why did you come?” he asks thickly, staring down at their linked hands. Shigeru almost hadn’t invited Kyoutani, then reconsidered when he realized he’d invited the rest of the Seijoh team including Oikawa in Argentina. 

It would’ve been stupid to exclude Kyoutani on the basis of… what, exactly? The ambiguities in their relationship that he’d never seemed to have fully forgotten about? He knew the taste of Kyoutani’s mouth, once, but that was a lifetime ago. It doesn’t mean anything. 

Kyoutani stiffens, frowning like he doesn’t understand the question. His gaze swivels to Shigeru, impossibly bright in the darkness. “Because Watari said I should,” he says simply, then, “And it was your wedding. Why the hell wouldn’t I?” 

He doesn’t say something like, _because we were a team, because we were friends, because—because it’s_ you, even though Shigeru wants him to without having to project. Maybe it’s just that simple and he’s looking for meaning where there isn’t any. 

This is so stupid. He drags a hand down his face and lets out a hoarse laugh. He’s tipsy and mourning the end of a two year relationship and he can’t stop noticing the way Kyoutani’s eyes glow under the moonlight, nor keep himself from clinging onto his hand. He’s _more_ than just tipsy. He’s drunk and fucked. 

“Do you have a girlfriend?” Shigeru doesn’t know what the fuck possess him to ask. Kyoutani grunts out a short no, turning back to face the front. “Boyfriend?”

“No,” Kyoutani’s ears slowly turn red under the line of questioning. “Been too busy for all that crap.”

Shigeru smirks. “Are you sure it’s not that no one wants to date you?”

“Fuck off,” Kyoutani barks out, squeezing his hand and tugging him forward. But he doesn’t let go, and after a quiet moment, Shigeru exhales loudly. 

“You’re lucky,” he says, and never expands on it. “Thanks for… being here, I guess. Coming and staying.” The lump in his throat makes him sound choked, but Kyoutani doesn’t mock him for it, or for his clumsy sincerity. 

“Sure,” he mumbles. His ears are still red. “We’re friends, right?”

“Right,” Shigeru echoes, and wonders why he’d tried to forget that. 

* * *

Life, somehow, moves on. 

Shigeru takes a new job in Sendai and moves out of his parents’ house. Tokyo is filled with too many memories of his life with Fukumi, and despite his efforts to move forward, the anxiety he feels at the thought of returning to that is too daunting to conquer. He doesn’t spend a lot of time thinking about what-ifs and what-might-have-beens, or attempts not to. There’s no point in it anymore. 

His sister-in-law tentatively offers to introduce him to someone new, but he brushes her off. Shigeru doesn’t have lofty goals like ‘wanting to work on himself’ or ‘finding his inner peace’ or anything; he just doesn’t need—well, he doesn’t need to go through the motions again. Doesn’t know if he _can_ , really. His mother says he’ll grow out of it eventually, but he’s less certain. 

Living alone is an adjustment, but Shigeru does his best to get used to it. He builds a routine for himself, starting with going for a run in the mornings to stay in shape, usually doing lazy loops around the neighbourhood. But it isn't the most thrilling form of exercise—running _alone_ is boring, more of a stroll than a real challenge. 

Shigeru could always ask someone to join him, but when he thinks about who he knows in Sendai, he almost drops the idea altogether before picking it back up hesitantly. He and Kyoutani are friends, he reminds himself, so it doesn't hurt to ask. Kyoutani will probably say no anyway; he has practice to worry about. 

But Kyoutani readily agrees when Shigeru brings it up, and they make plans to meet at a park near Shigeru's house early in the morning. He didn't realize Kyoutani was a morning person but it makes a certain kind of sense. He's definitely more disciplined that he used to be in high school. As his former captain, Shigeru thinks it's admirable.

"Ready to eat my dust?" Shigeru asks teasingly, when he sees Kyoutani leaning against a tree in wait.

Kyoutani snorts, unafraid, and pushes himself off. "Yeah, we'll see who eats _what_ in a few minutes, Yahaba." 

Running with Kyoutani is—something. He's faster than Shigeru is, and in better shape. Most of the time, their runs turn into races, but Shigeru doesn't mind it. Kyoutani's always pushed him to be better, to try to do more than he's capable of, even if in this context, that just means trying to keep up with a professional athlete. It's exhilarating in a way he'd forgotten about, in a way he hasn't really felt since his senior year on the volleyball court. 

Bent over panting at the top of a hill one morning, Shigeru flicks his sweaty bangs back and looks up. Kyoutani's as drenched as he is and uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. But he's smiling, or at least Shigeru thinks he is, and he's so caught up in the sight that he blurts out, "Why didn't we do this sooner? Hang out, I mean?" 

Kyoutani lets his shirt fall back down. "You were in Tokyo," he says, as if it's obvious (and it is). He takes a swing of water from his bottle before crushing it in his fist. "You never called." His tone is not accusatory, exactly, but Shigeru feels oddly chastised anyway. He accepts Kyoutani's offered hand and straightens up with a groan. 

"Yeah, well—" He'd never really known where Kyoutani fit into the fabric of his life. They'd never been best friends in high school—even calling them _friends_ felt like a stretch sometimes. But they'd respected each other on and off the court, and there was no one Shigeru trusted more while setting the ball. And sometimes, sometimes, when the tension between them had risen to a tipping point, when Kyoutani had him pressed against the lockers, when Shigeru couldn't stop thinking about his lips or his rough grip and grabbed Kyoutani by the collar to slam his mouth against his—they'd felt like more. 

But frenzied make outs and trading hand jobs in the locker rooms had come to an abrupt end after graduation. It wasn't a dramatic falling out, to be fair. It lacked the gravitas of a break up because they hadn't committed to anything, and lacked the heartbreak of a rejection because neither of them confessed to anything. At the end of the day, Shigeru convinced himself that he hadn't been in love with Kyoutani for the better part of a year because it just wasn't _possible_ , so leaving things unsaid and unacknowledged was fine. 

But when Fukumi asked if he'd been in a relationship in high school, Kyoutani immediately came to mind. He'd thought, _god, that's hilarious_ , but it didn't feel like a joke. Eventually, he told her, "It didn't work out," and she never pressed further.

It's not like there are unresolved feelings still hovering between them. At least, Shigeru doesn't think so. But it'd still felt awkward to think about Kyoutani for the longest time, so he'd simply ensured that he didn't have to. Perhaps unfairly, he realizes. 

Kyoutani's still looking at him, still waiting for him to continue. Shigeru clears his throat and turns away. "I didn't think you'd want to hear from me," he says eventually, and Kyoutani's eyes narrow in displeasure. 

"The hell would you think that for?" 

Shigeru lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. "Well," he says carefully. "I'm an asshole."

Kyoutani waits to see if he's serious or not, then scoffs and puts a hand on his shoulder. "I already knew that," he says matter-of-factly, and Shigeru makes an offended noise in the back of his throat that Kyoutani pays no attention to. "I don't mind, remember? I like you better when you're being an ass." 

"You'd be the only one," he replies absentmindedly. 

"Wasn't your girlfriend okay with it?" Kyoutani says, then immediately stiffens, the blood slowly draining from his face. His fingers curl into a fist, then uncurl slowly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to—"

"It's fine," Shigeru says quickly. Kyoutani eyes him dubiously as if he isn't convinced, but Shigeru means it. "She didn't know." He wanted to be the perfect princely sort of partner to Fukumi and did his best to only show her his good sides. Not that it mattered much in the end, but—

"Sounds fucking suffocating," Kyoutani remarks, and Shigeru bites back a laugh.

"Yeah,” he mutters, stretching his arms over his head. “I guess it was."

* * *

He and Kyoutani continue to run together most mornings, before Shigeru has to get ready for work and Kyoutani has to make his way to practice. Sometimes they grab dinner together, when morning meet-ups aren’t an option. He’s not sure if it’s because of the proximity or the company itself, but he finds himself spending almost all of his free time with Kyoutani. 

He only realizes it when his coworkers drag him out for drinks for the first time since he started at his job and spend the night teasing him about how he’s always too busy to come out with them. Shigeru smiles into his glass and says nothing, but it sticks in his head. _Busy_. He’s not usually, aside from hanging out with Kyoutani, but that seems to be the point. 

But Kyoutani’s plenty busy himself. The Sendai Frogs are doing pretty well this season, and he’s got friends on the team Shigeru’s only heard about in passing who rope him into events pretty frequently, though Kyoutani’s never really failed to make time for Shigeru when he’s asked. It’s strange to hear him talk about the importance of bonding as a team while recalling what he was like in high school, but that isn’t fair to him. Kyoutani improved in their third year, started to work with the team as their ace instead of remaining a lone wolf. 

"Probably 'cause you yelled at him," Watari supplies helpfully, when Shigeru brings the subject up during a call.

"Not _just_ because I yelled at him." In public. During a game. Not his finest hour. "It was justified!" 

"I think it left a pretty big impact." The smile is evident in Watari's voice as he adds, "Glad to see you guys are getting along better these days."

"We've always gotten along fine."

"Says the guy who would regularly push him up against a wall."

"I didn't always do it because I was angry," he fumes, but before Watari can follow up with questions Shigeru doesn't want to (or know how to) answer, he changes the subject to something benign, like Iwaizumi’s recent Instagram update. 

Once, he shows up during the tail end of the Frogs’ practice because he and Kyoutani are supposed to hang out afterwards, and spends most of his time talking to Yamaguchi from Karasuno, who also happens to be waiting for someone. Tsukishima, also from Karasuno, Shigeru supposes. Yamaguchi seems used to this; when practice is over, he just waves to Tsukishima, who acknowledges his presence with a nod before disappearing into the locker rooms. 

Kyoutani, on the other hand, jogs over to where they’re waiting with a towel around his neck and mumbles out a quick hello to Yamaguchi before turning to Shigeru, his lips twitching into a small smile. “Be done in five minutes,” he says. 

Shigeru makes a face. "Take longer; you stink." 

"Yeah? You wanna fucking go, Yahaba?" But there's no heat behind his words, and he flicks the towel in Shigeru's direction (who dodges, naturally) before jogging back with a wave. 

Yamaguchi watches their exchange with a bemused expression. "I didn't think you and Kyoutani-san were actually together, but you get along so well. It’s cute.”

"Huh?" It takes a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in. When they do, he flushes and shoves his hands in his pockets. “We’re not—together, I mean.” Shigeru should probably say more to drive the point home—he almost mentions his ex-fiancée, the botched wedding, something that cements the fact that he and Kyoutani are a crazy concept and that he's not interested, but he can’t. His tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. 

Yamaguchi shakes his head and raises his arms in surrender. "Ah, sorry!,” he says, slowly turning pink. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. Tsukki just—I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions, though."

“It’s not a big deal,” Shigeru says somewhat awkwardly. “We’re friends, though, so…”

He doesn’t mention the misunderstanding to Kyoutani when he returns. There’s no casual way to say, _hey, your teammate’s boyfriend thinks we’re dating_ and leave it there without having to talk about it, and Shigeru does not want to talk about it if he can help it. 

But Kyoutani notices something off in the way he carries himself anyway and frowns as they head out with no destination in mind. “You look like you shit the bed,” he says flatly, and Shigeru jerks upright.

“Can you be less crude?”

“No.” Kyoutani keeps his eyes fixed on him. “Can you stop deflecting?”

“I’m just hungry.”

“Okay.” Kyoutani doesn’t sound like he believes him, but he drags Shigeru into a nearby coffee shop minutes later, ignoring his sputtering. He is a little hungry, but not that much. Though since they’re already here… Rubbing his arm grumpily, he orders a café latte while Kyoutani persuades the selection of baked goods with the same intense concentration he usually reserves for his serves. 

He’s standing close enough to Shigeru for their arms to brush, and even though his sweater, Shigeru can feel the heat radiating from Kyoutani’s body. It’s extremely distracting, but not in an unpleasant way. “What the fuck is a profiterole,” Kyoutani mutters to himself. 

“Cream puff,” Shigeru answers immediately, pressing closer to admire the display. “Get two.”

“Stop telling me what to do.” But Kyoutani orders two, along with a savoury danish Shigeru will probably—no, definitely be sneaking a bite of later if he can manage it. 

They exit with their purchases and Shigeru lets out a long, drawn-out sigh as he takes a bite of his cream puff. It’s delicious, as expected, but—”I wanted sushi,” he says mournfully. 

Kyoutani stops in his tracks. “Then why the fuck didn’t you _say_ so?” he demands, glaring at Shigeru like he’s personally offended him. 

“I don’t know! It happened so fast.” That, and he’d still been distracted by Yamaguchi’s innocent assumption and was in the midst of desperately searching for a change of subject so he couldn’t be coerced into talking about it. He takes another bite of the cream puff. “But this is good too.” 

Kyoutani opens his mouth to argue further, then snaps it shut again and swallows. “You got some custard on your mouth,” he says after a pause, gesturing to the corner of his mouth.

“What?” 

He takes a step closer and leans forward, his eyes trained on Shigeru’s mouth. “Here, stay still.” With one hand, he holds the side of Shigeru’s face in place and with the other, he swipes a thumb over the offending spot before absentmindedly licking the glob of custard off it. “Sweet,” he mutters, still holding Shigeru’s face, still looking at his lips, still _close_ —

Shigeru takes a stumbling step back. “What the fuck are you doing?” There’s a roaring in his ears that deafens him to everything but his shallow breaths and the pounding in his chest. 

Kyoutani blinks, momentarily surprised by the force in his voice, then averts his gaze. “Helping you clean up after yourself, asshole.” But the redness in his face takes the sting out of his words even as he angrily shoved his entire cream puff into his mouth in one go. 

Shigeru can still feel his pulse racing. “Don’t you think you were too close?”

Shrugging, Kyoutani resumes walking, his rapid, purposeful strides forcing Shigeru to jog to catch up. He presses a hand to his heart when Kyoutani isn’t looking and wonders if he’s being overly sensitive because of Yamaguchi’s words earlier. He shouldn’t have such a visceral reaction to anyone; he’s not a teenage schoolboy with a crush, but—

“We can still get sushi,” Kyoutani says suddenly, without turning around. “I know you’re not going to stop pouting until we do.”

“I do not _pout_ ,” Shigeru says, seething, but the pointed look Kyoutani shoots him a moment later makes him wonder if he actually does, if he’s easy to read in spite of himself, or if it’s just Kyoutani who can recognize the subtle shifts in his expressions and has the gall to call him out on them. 

He gives up trying to argue the point. “You’re paying,” he says, falling into step with Kyoutani and slinging an arm around his shoulder. 

“Like hell I am. Get the fuck off me.” They both know his protests are empty; Kyoutani makes no move to throw his arm off and changes direction towards a sushi restaurant. Shigeru grins to himself and whistles under his breath. 

Kyoutani’s warm, he thinks, and uses that as an excuse to pull him closer. 

* * *

Six months after their last conversation, Fukumi texts him and asks to meet up for coffee. She’s going to be in Sendai to visit a cousin, the message reads, and she would really like the chance to talk to Shigeru. 

Kyoutani is there when his phone buzzes and glares at the device while Shigeru reads the text out as if his displeasure can be transmitted through it. But despite his clear reservations, he doesn’t tell Shigeru not to go, only gives a vague warning about being careful. He’s mildly disappointed; no one else objects either, and in the end Shigeru responds to say he’d be willing to meet. 

There shouldn’t be a point in reopening old wounds, but he’ll admit he’s a little curious about what she wants. Shigeru thinks he’s moved on enough that he’s equipped to handle whatever Fukumi can throw at him, but—

“I’m seeing someone new,” she says once they’re seated, her hands folded on her lap. 

Shigeru’s coffee is still scalding, too hot to sip at without the risk of burning the roof of his mouth, so holds it between his hands. The warmth seeps through him slowly, sluggishly, bringing his thoughts to a crawl. Even though he’d guessed, in some ways, the news is a punch to the gut. 

“I just felt like you deserved to know,” Fukumi continues, her voice trembling. 

“I see,” Shigeru says evenly. He’s never gotten angry at Fukumi, never raised his voice or used foul language when talking to her. And he’s glad for that; he doesn’t want to be someone who loses their temper at someone wholly defenseless. But he’s never been fully honest with Fukumi as a consequence, and Kyoutani is right—it’s suffocating and exhausting. 

He wants to be candid about the fact that, months later, a part of him is still hurt and angry and embarrassed, that he doesn’t know how to process her announcement without any bitterness. But he knows that to tell the truth at this point won’t matter much. Swallowing his feelings, he asks, “Are you happy with them?” _Happier than you were with me?_

“I am.” When Fukumi smiles, her whole face lights up; it’s an expression Shigeru can’t remember seeing before today. “They’re very—very good to me.” Her cheeks turn red. “I’m sorry, Shigeru. About everything that happened. But I think it worked out, didn’t it?” Her eyes shine hopefully, imploring him to agree. “Isn’t this better for both of us?”

Spite and pride almost drive him to say no, but there’s no point to holding onto this either, especially when Fukumi is right. Had they managed to work things out and get married anyway, he might’ve— _would_ have—regretted it down the line. He’s come to terms with that, at least. “Yeah,” Shigeru says finally. “I think it is.” 

Fukumi’s smile is kind as she lays a hand on his arm. “I hope you can find your happiness soon too, Shigeru.”

He finishes his coffee quickly after that. Fukumi nibbles on a slice of cake, then abandons the bit left over once Shigeru gets ready to leave. When they say goodbye outside the coffee shop, it really feels like it’ll be for the last time—the end of the last two years of his life. He’s not sure what to do with the closure. 

Lingering by the entrance, he sees Fukumi run up to a tall woman with dark hair and sharp eyes that soften as they turn to Fukumi. They chat animatedly, then disappear into the crowd holding hands. 

There’s a lump in his throat all of a sudden as he stares after them, threatening to choke him. _So it’s like that_ , he thinks, turning away. He doesn’t know why, but his chest feels tight at the memory of their entwined hands. 

* * *

He heads back to his apartment and falls face-first into his pillow without even removing his shoes. The dull throbbing in his head intensifies as his phone buzzes with a text from Kyoutani. Shigeru fires off a quick response letting him know he’s home before switching his phone off. He wants to mope, or think, or do neither and just lay here in a fugue state. He deserves that much. 

Half an hour later, someone pounds on his door. Shigeru drags himself out of bed to answer it only to find Kyoutani on the other end, his expression dour. “Can I come in?” he asks.

“I’m kind of b—“ He’s not busy, actually, and doesn’t have the energy to pretend he is. Sighing, Shigeru steps aside wordlessly. 

Kyoutani has been here before, usually to drop Shigeru off when he’s had too much to drink, but he’s never gone past the front door. He runs a critical eye over the mess Shigeru hasn’t had time to clean up and takes a careful seat in the empty spot on the couch. “You okay?” he asks brusquely. 

Shigeru almost says _yeah, of course_ , but this is Kyoutani; he’d see through any attempt of his to lie, so—“Fukumi is seeing someone.” Kyoutani’s eyes widen, his hands curling into fists. “She thought I should know.”

“That… fucking blows, Yahaba.” His words are rough, but Kyoutani’s tone is surprisingly gentle. Shigeru didn’t even know he could sound like that. Wrapping his arms around himself, he sinks into the couch beside Kyoutani and sighs. 

“I don’t know why I’m upset. I don’t want to be.”

Kyoutani hesitates, then says, “Did you—“ and here he hesitates, his eyes shifting to the side. “Are you still—“

He knows what Kyoutani wants to ask. If he still has feelings for Fukumi, if he’s still devastated, if there’s a part of him that still hoped they’d work out. It’s one thing to say _yeah, I’m over it_ , another to feel it in your heart. 

But Shigeru _does_ feel it. The emotions swirling in his chest aren’t for Fukumi, not really. They were never in love and never going to work out. He gets that. Maybe he’s mourning their relationship a bit, or the life he was supposed to have, but that’s different from the tight feeling when he thinks about Fukumi and her new girlfriend—it’s _jealousy_ , maybe, for what they have. For what Shigeru doesn’t. 

He closes his eyes. “What if I say no?” His voice sounds distant to his own ears. “What if I say I’ve been in love with you this whole time?” It’s a stupid thing to say. Shigeru doesn’t mean it. Or maybe he does but doesn’t want to. His head is pounding, but so is his heart. 

Beside him, Kyoutani is silent—the kind of silence that comes with anger. His mouth is pinched, his eyes flashing. “I know you’re upset and hurting, but that doesn’t mean you can fuck around with me.” His voice is almost a growl, and it sends a feeling skittering down Shigeru’s spine that isn’t fully unwelcome. 

“I’m not,” he tries, but Kyoutani cuts him off before he can go further. 

“Drop the bullshit, Yahaba.” His words are clipped, tense, and he leans away from Shigeru on the couch like the space is suddenly too small to contain him. “We both know you haven’t secretly been in love with me since high school.” 

He can’t say that Kyoutani is wrong, but that stings. “And you?”

Kyoutani’s jaw clenches. “I haven’t either.” He turns away, his shoulders hunched. “Look, I was, okay? For a while, and it fucking _sucked_ , and then I moved on.” 

Shigeru blinks. “You—” It’s not as much of a surprise as it should be; high school is a time for muddled emotions anyway, and it would be a lie to say Shigeru never felt something more for Kyoutani than could be defined as just ‘friends who make out’, a kind of nebulous ‘like’ he was too scared to embrace and spent years forcing himself to not think about. That he wasn’t wholly successful is a different thing entirely. 

But of course Kyoutani would have moved on in the meantime. Shigeru can’t see him clinging onto relics of the past. He shouldn’t feel disappointed about this; pining for someone for that long is unhealthy, and god knows their friendship is important to him, and yet. _Yet_.

Kyoutani notes the slump of his shoulders, the tension in his face, and scoffs disbelievingly. “You wanted me to say something else?” 

_Yeah_ , he thinks. _Yeah_. He did. “I wanted you to still be in love with me so I could convince myself that I’m someone who _can_ be loved,” Shigeru says. “So I could pretend I deserve it too.” The words spill out of him, nonsensical and thoughtless, but the minute they leave his mouth he knows he’s being honest. He curls into himself, tucking his chin into his chest. 

Silence settles between them, and after what feels like an hour, Kyoutani shifts closer and pats his back stiffly, still unused to comforting someone. “You deserve to be loved,” he says carefully. “Just… can’t be by me. You don’t want it to be by me.” There’s a wistfulness to his voice that Shigeru doesn’t think he was meant to hear, but it lodges itself in his chest regardless. 

The problem here is that he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, but he can’t say that. Instead, Shigeru nods wordlessly and squeezes his eyes shut. “Sorry,” he says after a pause. He didn’t mean to cross whatever line— _every_ line—they’d quietly drawn in the sand. 

Kyoutani doesn’t say it’s fine or don’t worry about it, because he’s not the type to fake forgiveness if he doesn’t truly mean it. But despite his low-simmering anger and the obvious hurt, he stays with Shigeru a while longer. 

His warm, solid presence helps Shigeru feel less alone in his shitty apartment, and as Shigeru ends up drifting off to sleep, he thinks, _I wish it was you._

* * *

For the first time in months, Shigeru skips his morning run with Kyoutani, informing him that he drank too much and can’t drag his hungover self out the door. He’s perfectly casual—funny, even—in the text itself, but Kyoutani’s response acknowledges none of that. Don’t force yourself, it reads. Just come whenever you want to. 

He takes that as permission to skip the rest of the week; the last thing he wants or feels qualified to do is face Kyoutani after their messy conversation. But he spends most of his days restless as a consequence, missing the exercise—and Kyoutani himself. His single-minded focus, the way his eyes seem to brighten when he wins, his powerful legs pumping faster, faster, _faster_ until Shigeru is a speck of dust left in his wake. 

Goddamit. Shigeru’s stupid, but he’s not a complete idiot. He’s aware he’d been fishing for something when he asked Kyoutani his hypothetical what-if, but he can’t figure out what it was. Sure, he was being honest when he said he wanted Kyoutani to still be in love with him—it’s nice to feel wanted and needed by someone, it’s nice to know that someone’s thinking of you when they go about their day, that they’re looking forward to seeing you again for the sole reason that you’re _you_. 

But more than that, Shigeru felt like he’d almost been searching for the answer to a question he’s carried in his heart for a while: _do I love you?_ It’s easier to admit to things when you’re sure of the outcome, when you know where the other side stands. He’d wanted to be sure about Kyoutani.

Fukumi wished for him to find his own happiness too. Shigeru used to think happiness was simple: a job you don’t hate, a cute girlfriend, a nice house, and maybe a dog. When he thinks of happiness these days, only one thing—one person—comes to mind. 

It’s still hilarious, after all these years.

Does it matter if it’s a sure thing, when in his heart he knows what he feels?

* * *

It’s only been a week, and yet Shigeru worries that Kyoutani won’t be there at their usual meeting spot in front of the park. But he’s there waiting, scowling down at his phone when Shigeru jogs up. “Reading the news?” he asks idly, and Kyoutani jerks upright so quickly that he nearly drops his phone. 

“Fucking _hell_ , Yahaba.” He rubs the back of his neck and pockets his phone with a grimace. “Warn a guy if you’re going to pop up out of nowhere.”

He probably should have texted to say that he was over his freak-out and ready to see Kyoutani again, but something stopped him. “I was worried you’d run away if I did,” Shigeru admits.

Kyoutani holds his gaze, as if searching for the lie, then scoffs. “I’m not going to run away from you.” He doesn’t mean it as a promise or a reassurance, but it pulls a sigh of relief from Shigeru anyway. He knows Kyoutani won’t—if he hasn’t yet, he might not ever. Oikawa used to call him ‘Mad Dog’ as a joke, but Shigeru knows better than anyone that he’s loyal. 

“Good,” he says, and clears his throat. “Good, because I’m about to say some really dumb shit.” Kyoutani’s eyebrows knit together as he crosses his arms over his chest and waits. “Like, I think I might be in love with you, a bit.” As far as confessions go, it’s weak and tentative, just like the fluttering of his pulse, but Shigeru is not sure if he can manage something stronger. 

He’s not brave—wants to be, pretends he is, but when it comes to love, he’s not brave. 

Kyoutani doesn’t fly off the handle, as Shigeru half expects him to. “ _Again_?” he asks flatly. “We already went over this. Is this some kind of joke? Are you having the time of your fucking life with this?” 

“I’m being serious,” Shigeru protests. Kyoutani shakes his head in disgust and starts to walk away, but Shigeru lunges forward and grabs his arm. “Tell me you have absolutely no feelings for me right now and I’ll drop the subject. I’ll never bring it up again. But for me, this is—”

It happens lightning fast. One second his fingers are wrapped around Kyoutani’s bicep, the next he’s slammed against the tree, Kyoutani’s forearm pressed against his throat. His angry gaze pins Shigeru in place, but underneath the rage is surprise and hurt and so much confusion that Shigeru almost wants to apologize. 

“It doesn’t matter if I do,” Kyoutani bites out, low and intense. “I know you; you’re never going to be happy with someone like me. You want your life to be easy and picture perfect—you almost fucking married someone you didn’t love just because it made you feel _normal_.” The arm across Shigeru’s throat slackens as Kyoutani blinks and staggers back, shedding the anger as quickly as it came. “I’m not going to make it easy. I’m not pretty enough for the picture you want. Nothing about this,” he gestures to the sudden distance between them, “is normal.”

Massaging his throat, Shigeru blinks back the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. He can’t say that Kyoutani is wholly wrong; he wanted easy, and perfect, and normal for the longest time. He thought he had it with Fukumi, but it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t _fair_. 

“I’m happy being with you now,” he says finally, and Kyoutani closes his eyes like it pains him to bear witness to this. “I was happy with you in high school. I haven’t really, honestly been happy without you.”

“You’re fucking lonely and miserable as shit.”

“I’m not, actually. Thanks to you.”

Kyoutani’s eyes fly open. “Yahaba,” he says, and nothing more. He doesn’t sound convinced, and to be fair, Shigeru wouldn’t be either were he in Kyoutani’s position. Words have never been the sole way they communicate, so he takes a step closer, then another, and another until they’re too close once more. 

As promised, Kyoutani doesn’t run away. His eyes burn with a challenge—and something deeper that makes Shigeru want to fuck with him a little, or just fuck him, period. He swallows and drops his gaze to Kyoutani’s mouth and hesitates. 

Shigeru’s already experienced one of the most humiliating things a person can go through; what is this in comparison? With a sardonic smile on his lips, he grabs Kyoutani by the collar and presses his mouth against his. 

It’s a familiar, sloppy kiss—too much enthusiasm, not enough tenderness. It tastes like a teenage schoolboy crush, filling him with the same kind of giddiness, the same weightless anticipation, the same sincere, clumsy, misshapen _want_ he tried not to put a name to— _I want to love you. I do._

When he pulls away, Kyoutani is looking at him with a measured, cautious gaze. His ears are red, his hands shaking as they wrap around Shigeru’s wrists and pull them away from his collar. Shigeru licks his lips, the roaring in his ears increasing, and says, “You don’t know _shit_ about me, Kyoutani, if you think I wasn’t serious about that.”

Kyoutani still eyes him warily, but eventually exhales loudly and grabs Shigeru’s hands. “Let’s go… talk somewhere else,” he mutters, pulling him in the opposite direction of their usual runs. Shigeru allows himself to be dragged along, internally debating whether this is a good thing or bad.

Three blocks later, he realizes Kyoutani is holding his hand, and laughs under his breath. Maybe, he thinks, he’ll take this as a good sign. 

* * *

Kyoutani brings them to his apartment. Shigeru’s never been to his place before; Kyoutani is a private person and simply asking to visit feels like crossing a line. It’s spacious, but comfortable—it looks lived in, the kind of home Shigeru imagines Kyoutani must have grown up in. The décor is a far cry from the sleek, modern furniture in his own place, but Shigeru likes this better. 

Once the door shuts behind Kyoutani, he wheels around and shifts his weight from foot to foot, weighing something on his tongue. “You kissed me in broad daylight,” he says finally, like he’s still processing. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t plan to. It just happened in the moment.” And he’d wanted to, so that was really the extent of it. “Did you hate it?” 

Kyoutani looks away. “I told you not to fuck with me but this feels a lot like fucking with me.” There’s vulnerability in Kyoutani’s voice, in his eyes, in the set of his shoulders; he sounds raw, scraped, exposed in a way that doesn’t make Shigeru want to laugh. 

“I told you! I like you.” He sighs and scratches his cheek. “I didn’t lie when I said I haven’t secretly been pining after you this whole time. I just don’t think the part of my heart that _did_ like you back then got the memo about moving on.”

“Your communications skills suck, then,” Kyoutani says blandly.

Shigeru ignores the jab. “I can’t promise I’m going to be good at any of this, and you already know I’m a selfish, shallow asshole who can’t be honest for shit—I’m not a catch. You probably deserve better. But because I’m a selfish asshole I _can_ say that I don’t want to lose you, and I—“ he falters, the confidence draining out of him. “I think that means something.” 

Kyoutani is not a sure thing, but Shigeru isn’t either. He feels like any relationship between them will be filled with stops and starts, mixed signals and red lights, but he’s alright with that. Shigeru doesn’t want comfortable—he wants the feeling building in his chest, rising to a tipping point, poised to erupt.

He wants happiness with Kyoutani, in whatever form. 

The rawness in Kyoutani’s expression fades slowly. He’s always been slow to trust, slow to open up, slow to love, but—when he looks at Shigeru it’s not with doubt or confusion or hesitation, just a tiny bit of hope that Shigeru doesn’t want to have imagined. He rubs the back of his neck again and mutters something under his breath. Shigeru only catches the tail end of it. “—te it.” 

“What?”

“I didn’t hate it,” Kyoutani repeats haltingly. “The kiss. _Whatever_.” 

“Oh,” Shigeru says, fidgeting with his fingers. 

Kyoutani runs a hand through his cropped hair. A low growl of frustration escapes his mouth as he bridges the gap between them. “I didn’t want to end up here again,” he says, resigned. 

The empty space is still too great. Shigeru leans closer. Kyoutani doesn’t flinch. “Here?” he questions. 

The corners of Kyoutani’s mouth twitch. “In love with you,” he says. “Figured it was safe to just be your friend as long as I knew there was no chance, but you—“ Breaking off, he reaches up to touch Shigeru’s face, then stops just short of making contact, looking uncertain. “You’re so goddamn annoying, Yahaba. I can’t stop thinking about you.”

He inhales sharply and grabs Kyoutani’s hand to bring it to his cheek. “Then just don’t.” 

“You wanna fucking go?” Kyoutani asks, his voice low and sending a warning racing through Shigeru’s veins. For impending danger, maybe, or that this might be the worst decision of his life—or the best. He stares into Kyoutani's honey brown eyes and feels his cheeks heat up. _Definitely_ the best. 

“Yeah,” Shigeru says, and grins when Kyoutani pulls him in for another kiss.

* * *

* * *

* * *

(“Yahaba-chan,” Oikawa croons over the phone. “Next time you decide to get married, I will _definitely_ be there.”

“I don’t know if I ever plan to, Oikawa-san,” he answers absentmindedly, trying to clean the crumbs off Kentarou’s couch because he will most definitely notice the mess when he comes home.

Oikawa makes a strangled noise at the other end that’s part shock, part displeasure. “You can’t have wedding-related trauma! Hajime and I are setting a date soon and you can’t miss our ceremony—“

“Oh, no. I’m fine with weddings,” Shigeru explains quickly. “It’s just that the guy I’m in love with doesn’t seem too interested in stuff like that.”

Silence falls, and then Oikawa lets out a genuine laugh, his tone turning teasing. “I think for you, Kyouken-chan would be willing to go through with just about anything.”

He almost drops the phone. “How did you—“ His former captain’s ability to know things he shouldn’t is alive and well, and frankly, that’s disturbing. 

“I’ll tell Hajime you’re bringing a plus one.”

“Oikawa-san, please d—“ But Oikawa hangs up laughing, and Shigeru just sighs. 

Later, when he recaps the call to Kentarou—

“Spring,” Kentarou says gruffly. 

Shigeru starts. “Hm?”

“A spring wedding would be nice.” It takes Shigeru a few seconds to process; his mouth stretches into a grin when he finally understands. Kentarou purposefully averts his gaze and pretends to be busy with his gym bag. 

“Spring? Cliché, isn’t it?”

Kentarou bristles. “Shut up. Spring is pretty.”

Well. Shigeru doesn’t have a strong opinion either way, but he supposes spring _is_ nice. It’s the season when he first felt something for Kentarou, anyway. He didn’t know it would become love then, but it’s fitting to acknowledge that as a beginning of sorts. 

He abandons his chair at the dining table to wrap his arms around Kentarou from behind, ignoring his protests, and rests his chin on his shoulder. “Spring’s fine with me,” he says.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Kentarou’s scowl soften into a smile.)

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be half the length and posted much earlier but in all ways including physical i am a human disaster. 
> 
> thank you for reading, and find me on [twt](https://twitter.com/bokuto_mp4) or hmu on [cc](https://curiouscat.me/omoiyaris) if you're so inclined!


End file.
